by Stephen Moss
A particularly loud and obtrusive six seconds, to be sure, but six seconds, nonetheless.
In most places in the world that have been so quick as to have defied anyone to capture it on film, but with an estimated fifteen million cell phones in Beijing, there had indeed been two quick and albeit blurry photos captured of the event, photos that had quickly gone viral across the globe.
But two very different information agencies had immediately gone to work to discredit the images. Their methods and reasons for doing so could not have been more different, but together they constituted the greatest propaganda machine in history.
The first was the Chinese Department of Xuānchuán, an ambiguous word that meant either publicity or propaganda depending on who you were talking to. The Chinese government had spent nearly fifty years persistently telling the people of China that its borders were all but impenetrable, its army unparalleled on earth. So to admit that a single craft had penetrated those defenses to the very heart of the nation, and then departed without so much as a scratch on its strange hull, would have been too great an admission of vulnerability for the mighty state.
For the newly sovereign TASC, wanting the leaders of the world to know what awaited them if they stood in the way of TASC’s mission was one thing, wanting the people of those nations to know was another altogether. And so for this rare moment the propaganda machine of the injured but still mighty Chinese state had an unlikely ally. An ally who had turned its very different skillset to flooding the internet with some even more amazing photos of the event, albeit ones that had some very fatal flaws in them.
The flaws had been deliberate, and when they had been discovered, the photos as a whole had been dismissed, along with verbal accounts that were even now being deleted and silenced by a zealous Chinese internet censorship bureau.
Another of the analysts now spoke up. “Minnie and I have included a briefing on which news channels are still reporting on the incident, how much time they are dedicating to the story, and the disposition of their analysis over time.”
Jim started thumbing through the update, looking for the relevant section, and one of the analysts prompted him, “Page eighty-three, sir.”
Jim found it and took a moment to read it. They all knew what it indicated, but they waited for Jim to see it himself. The information showed what is often referred to in the misinformation industry as a ‘credibility curve.’ It was different by region.
The more developed nations of Europe were already moving on, both in terms of which version of the story was being given greater credence and the tone with which they were approaching the entire event. It was starting to become comical, a topic for comedians and late night talk show hosts. The persistence of more fringe media outlets that this was in fact an attack was only fueling that change.
For most, it seemed, the credibility of the story was quickly accelerating down the far side of the curve, plummeting into the region of conspiracy theory, to join 9/11 government cover-ups and Elvis sightings. That was in Europe. In the US it was holding on a little stronger, but their greater appetite for conspiracy theory was well known. Elsewhere it was fading into obscurity, with greater speed the farther you got from the sight itself.
“And what …” said Jim, slightly distractedly as he finished reviewing the data. He lifted his eyes and started again, “And what of the cover story. Our … gas explosion?”
He said it with the distaste they all felt for the stereotypical and unimaginative alternative to reality that the Chinese had been pushing for the last few days. But there was not much else the Chinese could say.
Luckily for Neal, the building had been all but deserted, a factor they had considered in planning the attack. In fact, if the Party chairman himself had not been being forced to be there by the Agent that had controlled him for so long, then the party leadership would probably have been all but unaffected by the strike, barring the loss of some junior aides unfortunate enough to be working at that hour.
“Actually,” said Minnie, “we have an idea of how to help with that story as well.”
“OK,” said Jim, “I’m all ears.” After all, a story that well used needed all the help it could get.
But it was not Minnie who spoke, another of the analysts spoke up, making it painfully apparent to Jim that she was having sidebar conversations in the ether. Jim ignored the slight, mostly because he really didn’t care about such things, and listened.
“Well, sir,” said the excited but nervous analyst, “it seems to us that we can do the reverse of the manipulated photograph release we did to discredit the Skalm pictures, and release a version of the photos that we can claim is the unaltered photo: with the explosions, but no Skalm …”
Jim nodded, but with a frown. “Creating obvious forgeries is one thing. Creating photos that must stand up to the most rigorous of study is another.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Minnie from the phone, and Jim stared at the grey plastic box on his desk as if it had just said it wanted to go on a date with him.
After a moment’s silence, Jim prompted an explanation. “Err, OK, Minnie. Care to elaborate?”
“Of course, Jim. I would not alter the photos at all. I would use the original photos and database images of the city of Beijing to create a virtual copy of the city. Then I would reenact the events of that night, but without the Skalm present, and capture images of the same moments in time from the same virtual locations as the original photographers. In the end, the images generated would be indistinguishable from reality.”
Jim was doubtful and he looked around. Indistinguishable was a strong word, an absolute, and several decades in politics had taught him not to believe in absolutes. That said, he now noted that each of the three analysts who had met Minnie in person, as it were, did not share his skepticism.
“Indistinguishable?” said Jim, not hiding skepticism.
“Yes,” said Minnie, “They would be real pictures of a three-dimensional space as tangible to me as the original. If I then deleted the virtual construct from my memory, even I would not be able to tell if the images were genuine or not.”
He stared at the phone once more. What credibility would they have if this were discovered? What credibility would anything have if such a capacity for forgery were discovered?
What innocence was the world going to lose next, thought Jim, then breathed deep and moved on. They had much to cover, and more work, both predicted and unforeseen, was soon to come.
- - -
As the rest of the week unfolded, an unwitting Chinese media took up the new images willingly, perhaps even starting to believe the fabrication themselves, and the story started to fall by the wayside. Not that its passing signaled a return to normality for the news stations or the people they serve. The world was still reverberating from the myriad of disasters that had recently befallen it.
From the line of burned-out hulks still being cleared from the roads in Eastern Hungary, to the apparent coup in Moscow that ended Premier Svidrigaïlov’s reign there, the actions of TASC continue to be absorbed like body blows, both by the nations that once stood against them, and the ones that once stood with them.
Former allies and enemies alike now deal with TASC and its representatives begrudgingly. They may be willing to help perpetuate the lies that the world needs to hear, but it cannot last much longer. Eventually the truth will come out. And soon.
Chapter 2: Mind-er
Neal’s eyes glistened with genuine affection as he greeted the little girl. “There she is. How are you?”
Banu smiled and ran to him, taking the proffered hug with relish. She was barred from nearly all outside contact these days, her circle limited to Neal and Amadeu, and of course Quavoce, her father, the man who protected her, even as she protected them all.
“Hello, Uncle Neal.”
He held the girl up, a twinge in his back betraying his ever-poorer physical condition, a price he paid for his dedication to his work, he liked to tell him
self, but in fact was rooted in a more profound laziness that was common among those that only found purpose in despair.
“How’s my little warrior princess, huh?” She giggled and he spun her a little in the air before her minimal weight became too much for him and he lowered her to the ground once more.
“Do you want to know a secret, my little warrior? I have something for you,” Neal now said, conspiratorially. “Do you want to see?”
“Yes!” she giggled with excitement, and she ran alongside him as he walked the short distance from where he had asked Quavoce to meet him to a heavy-looking door.
A moment’s confusion flashed across Banu’s innocent-seeming face before the door swung open of its own accord to reveal a large room, decorated everywhere in girlish pinkness that went way past garishness and out the other side into the realm of the ridiculous. The most incongruous part, though, was the pictures that lined the walls, for they were not of teen idols or Japanese manga heroines.
They were of owls and hawks, fighter jets, and, of course, the Skalm, stark in its beauty and pure function.
Banu shrieked and ran from Neal’s side into the room. There was a bed and a hammock, a chair and a desk covered in crayons and books; and toys, so many toys, arranged in boxes around the walls. She ran from one to the next, eyeing their contents with a gleam in her eye bordering on ecstasy, and then turned back to Neal with a question in her eyes …
“Yes, Banu, it is all for you. This is your new room!”
She shrieked once more and continued her exploration.
Quavoce came to stand at Neal’s side, his face showing that strange combination of happiness for his daughter and apprehension at the sight of her being spoiled, an emotion that any parent can sympathize with.
“Really, Neal?” he said quietly, as his ward began unloading a mass of toys from a particular box.
Neal smiled and chuckled. He did not look away from the girl as he replied, “Yes, Quavoce, really. And don’t be so alarmed. She’s had enough harsh reality to last a lifetime. This is for her. A small token of our appreciation.”
Quavoce could not argue the point too much, but to him it all still had the bitter aftertaste of spoiled wine, a good thing soured by circumstance. Quavoce was silent a moment then spoke up once more, as if he had been discussing the point within himself. “I cannot disagree, Neal, that she deserves some fun given what we have put her through, and even some distraction from the flying. Something I fear she enjoys a little too much. But …”
“Quavoce, my friend, please. This is not a bribe, and it is not just to make me feel better for sending a six-year-old girl into … well, we both know what we sent her into.”
Battle was a kind term for what Banu had been tasked with. Slaughter would be a better term, and Banu had been wielding the butcher’s knife herself. Most worrying had been that she had enjoyed it a little more than they might have liked. But now, hopefully, they could rely on the threat alone. Now they could return to diplomacy, a tactic that was always far more effective when silently backed by the threat of overwhelming military might.
“No, Quavoce,” Neal went on, “this is both a reward and a distraction. She needs to feel like a little girl again and hopefully she can do that here. She can still spend time in the air, both simulated and in the Skalm itself, and, should we need her to, she can still fight, from here. From this safe place. With you nearby and with everything she needs at hand.”
Quavoce was about to protest once more; after all, he had hoped for more than a one-room existence for the little girl when he had rescued her from the plague-ridden lands of her youth. But Neal was not done, and before Quavoce could formulate his objection, Neal called out.
“Minnie! Are you there?” he said to the air, and a voice replied, his pleasantly smug smile betraying his excitement at this final surprise.
“Yes, Neal. I am here. I am always here.” It was a familiar voice, but it was one that until now had rarely been embodied outside the confines of the ether.
Banu perked at the sound, it was a voice she was as deeply familiar with as Quavoce’s.
“Minnie!” she said, turning, but then confusion blurred her smile. It was the first time she had heard Minnie with her ears, and not from inside her mind. It was like hearing an imaginary friend actually speak, and she seemed most perplexed by the sensation.
The little girl joined Quavoce in staring at the heavy door and through it to the corridor beyond, to where the voice had come from.
“Yes, Banu,” said Neal, “Minnie wanted to be here, as your friend. So she can play with you here, like she does in the ether.”
Banu seemed happy at this, and yet still confused. And then the source of the voice entered the room. She was tall and not unattractive, but she was also stocky, almost masculine in her build. Banu did not notice this, she was too absorbed with trying to reconcile this person with the friend she knew as Minnie.
But Quavoce recognized it instantly as a machine body built not just for work as a would-be nanny. That would have taken the slightest of frames given the power of a mechanical musculature. No, this was a nanny that even Ms. Poppins would have hesitated to tangle with.
But the face on this martial machine was all gentleness, if a little awkward, still learning to see with two eyes and smile without appearing ghoulish.
“Hello, Minnie!” said Neal, with unconcealed pleasure, “It is so nice to see you!”
She turned to Neal with deliberately slow movement, Quavoce noting the way she limited the speed of her actions to more biological timeframes, “Hello, Neal, it is nice to see you too. I am going to go and play with Banu, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, you go ahead!” said Neal, like a high school coach talking to his star player. And so Minnie turned and walked toward the young girl, who stared wide-eyed at the big woman. But in the nanny’s black eyes was the same deliberate gentleness and infinite care she had once seen in Quavoce’s eyes, one quiet and cold night, and as Minnie knelt by Banu, the little girl began to smile.
Then she reached up gingerly and whispered in the woman’s ears, “Is it really you?”
Minnie did not have to fake the smile that came next, she called on her sense of emotion and love that she had inherited from Amadeu and Birgit, and combined them all with the very real feelings she had for the young girl, and the smile that came to her face had all the emotion of the little girl’s responding grin, both their faces alight at the simple act of meeting in person for the first time.
They hugged, and Quavoce turned to leave, taking Neal by the arm as he did so. Neal took the hint, dragging himself from the touching but very unusual sight and following the Agent out of the room.
“That is a strange thing you have done, Neal. Good, but strange … and, well … dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” said Neal, genuinely curious at what could possibly be seen as dangerous in what he had just witnessed.
“Well, it is not the first time I have seen a child put in the care of a machine. Indeed, it’s not the first time it’s happened to poor Banu, I suppose. But as human as Minnie may seem, you would do well to remember that sentience is not the same as humanity.”
Neal balked, “Careful, Quavoce. You are, without doubt, one of humanity’s greatest friends, but you are not one of us, let us not forget that. Whereas Minnie is born of human parents. Of course she is not like us, but I trust her with my life everyday, as do we all. And …”
“You misunderstand me, Neal. I mean not to question Minnie’s motives. Her heart and purpose are without question. Truly without question. But that is just what I mean to stress here. There is a difference between us and the machines, and it is greater even than the difference between human and Mobiliei. It lies not in an imperfection, but in their perfection. The very singularity of a machine’s purpose.”
Neal seemed skeptical, but Quavoce went on, “You are determined, Neal. Goodness knows you are more determined than any man I have ever met. But that is n
othing compared to a machine’s ability to dedicate itself to a task. I have to question every day what my machine subconscious wants to do, what options it provides me in its quest to meet my needs. It is a drug, and it is highly addictive.”
Neal began to nod. He could see where Quavoce was going and he could not deny the wisdom of it, “You are right, of course. I see it in myself too, the more I become dependent on Minnie. I have to actively remind myself that she is, well, she is a tool. An incredible tool, and one I value alongside my very closest friends and allies, but a tool nonetheless.”
He looked into Quavoce’s eyes and added, thoughtfully, “You are warning me against letting Banu become too dependent on Minnie.”
Quavoce nodded. They both thought about this for a moment, and then Neal went on, “Well, my friend, you understand what that means?”
Quavoce paused, and Neal said with a shrug, “It means that we will just have to continue to spend a lot of time with her as well.”
Quavoce laughed quietly.
“As fun as the rest of the people at District One are, I guess we will just have to grin and bear it,” said Quavoce.
They walked off, neither of them sad to think that they had a real need to continue to revel in the simple pleasure of Banu’s company. But neither of them was naïve either. They could see the signs of conflict in the young girl. The cost of exposing her young mind to the harsh truth of the world they now lived in. They needed her. But they must never forget that she needed them just as much, more perhaps.
Chapter 3: Thrum
The wide plain was without tree or shrub. No animal scuttled across its surface, and none ever had. But there was activity there, nonetheless. At the center of the plain, in a deep crater within another much larger and much older one, was a machine. It was a very large machine. And it was digging.